


A Glimpse

by halseam (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/halseam
Summary: A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.-Walt Whitman, A Glimpse





	A Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> Deamus Oneshot for tumblr user youreonlylow  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated  
> Follow me on tumblr @halseam and @halseamhllow

Neither boys understood why everyone looked at them weird. Whether in the common room or down in Hogsmead, no matter who it was, they would give the two double takes and looks that said ‘what the hell?’ Neither of them understood. Seamus once suggested it was because of how close and comfortable they were with each other. Dean didn’t understand this (amongst many other things), every other pair of best friends acted like this with each other.  
People would always either throw insults left and right or just shrug it off along with these looks, but Seamus was certain he saw a pair of third year Hufflepuffs whispering excitedly when they saw he and Dean at the Three Broomsticks two years ago. But now that they’re in their last year, maybe it’ll change. Maybe people will just get used to it and they’ll stop whispering behind their backs!  
Dean groans and lays down on his textbook. “What does any of this mean? Essence of Rogue méritait de mourir? What does that mean?”  
Seamus places a comforting hand on his best friends back. “Why don’t you just close it for tonight? We have the entire weekend you idiot,”  
“Alright...” Dean lifts his head a bit, looking up at his friend dishearteningly. He swallows, the two locking eyes, Seamus’ hand still on the other’s back. “Where’s Hermione when you need her, hey?”  
Seamus laughs a bit, standing up and pulling Dean with him. The common room is empty because of everyone down at dinner, so he sends a spell across the room to turn on his radio to a muggle music station and turn the volume up loudly. He begins shaking his shoulders jokingly, dancing along to the complicated drum and guitars, Dean standing back and laughing.  
“Oh, come on! Scared you’ll make a fool of yourself in front of all these people?” Seamus gestures around the room and takes the other’s hand and begins swinging him around. The pair dance along to the music together, laughing and grinning like maniacs. They bump into a few tables and knock over a stack of books in the process, not caring whatsoever about how close they get, getting winded from the movement quickly, yet they continue dancing like nothing else matters.  
And because of this, neither notice when the portrait door swings open and in climbs a couple of second year boys. Dean is the first to spot them across the room when Seamus twirls him, the second years sitting in one of the sofas. Silently spelling the radio off and Seamus pausing abruptly, his hand on Dean’s upper arm, he shouts across the room.  
“Oi!” Dean calls, catching the attention of the second years. “Why didn’t you tell us you were here?”  
“Uh... it was... too loud,” one says in a small voice. Seamus stifles a laugh.  
“Ah yes, because there aren’t any charms whatsoever to make your voice louder,”  
“We’re twelve!”  
“I remember learning one in year two. Whatever, it’s fine,”  
God, what are they thinking now. Seeing them dance around the room like that, what will they tell the other students? Actually, no, it doesn’t matter. Whatever. Why should it concern anyone as to what they call themselves. They just know that they’re best friends and if anyone else thinks different, why should they care? It’s not their lives.  
Seamus stifles a yawn as he lays on the second couch, the second years leaving the common room, and Dean putting his books away in his bag. A couple fourth year girls come in and go straight to the girls dorms, cutting Dean off from making his way to the sofa, (unknowingly) getting flipped off in the process.  
“Denny’s and Feeny, hello there,” a sixth year smirks at the two as he makes his way to the toilets.  
Muggle references. Both boys absolutely love them. The two laugh quietly as Dean places himself so he’s sitting between each of his best friends legs. The pair stare at each other.  
“And how are you two doing?” Ginny asks, sitting in the chair across from them, throwing her legs over one of the arms.  
Dean shrugs, whilst Seamus replies, “couple second years ruined our fun,”  
Ginny’s eyes widen and she spits out a laugh, covering her mouth happily. Both boys blush deep red when they realize that wasn’t the best wording in the world, followed by joining the redhead in fits of laughter.  
“Oh my god!” She grins, mouth still covered, “why don’t you _think_ about how you say things before you say them!” She says, breathless, a minute later.  
“Will do...” Seamus stares up at the ceiling. Shaking his head, he mutters a quiet, “oh my god,”  
Dean is still grinning ear to ear as they talk, marvelling at how stupid Seamus is. Topics change left and right, the three friends joking through all of them.  
Of course, people are still giving them weird looks, ranging everywhere from ‘awe that’s cute’ to ‘I thought she had a girlfriend’ to simply ‘ew’. It’s normal at this point, so instead of paying attention to these people, they simply joke around for hours, shooting spells at different small objects, seeing what will happen if they try to turn a flame of fire into a piece of paper, complaining about different people, the jokes slowly forgotten when Ginny leaves with two hours until curfew to go visit Luna.  
The portrait door swinging closed behind her, Dean stands up and turns on the fireplace, standing in front of it to warm his back so he’s facing Seamus, who is now sitting and reading an old muggle book a first year brought.  
“Poetry, nice.” He goes on to flip a few pages, scanning through the poems, stopping on a page and reading aloud, “ _A glimpse through an interstice caught,Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,“Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest,There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word._ ”  
He looks back up at Dean with a small smile and light blush on his face. “Who wrote it?” Dean asks, deciding he’s warm enough and taking the seat next to his best friend again, their thighs pressed against each other.  
“Walt Whitman, super dead, probably gay.” Seamus looks down at the book’s cover, his eyebrows pushed together, “my aunt would always read his stuff. She never let me read it. One of his most famous ones is apparently really sexual. Good try, Roda, I’m still gay as hell,”  
Seamus runs a hand through his hair (laughing at his own joke) and hands the book over to Dean, who has it taken away immediately from the person that owns it, muttering a quiet ‘sorry’ as they walk away. He lets his head fall on the other’s lap, closing his eyes and tapping his foot, listening to the radio someone set to Potterwatch.  
“Hope they’re doing well,” Seamus mutters, hand on the brunettes upper arm.  
“Ginny would tell us if they weren’t. She’s always listening, scared for her brother.” And he adds after a few seconds, “probably also pretty grounding to hear your family’s voices,”  
“Fair enough...”  
A group of sixth years peer around the sofa, some faces contorted while others plain confused, then turn to each other and whisper amongst themselves, completely unaware that Seamus is watching them from over the back of the sofa.  
“No, you,”  
“What the hell Jenna I am _not_ doing that, Ethan can!”  
“Screw that.”  
“What about Joan?”  
“Who, me?”  
“Yes, you,”  
“I think you’re forgetting I have anxiety,”  
“Yo, Thomas, Finnigan, just make out already!”  
“ _What the hell, Mark?_ ”  
Dean sits up and stares at the sixth years incredulously, eyes wide. The group are all smacking one of their friends while at the same smiling innocently at the two.  
Running a hand through his sandy hair, Seamus turns to look back at his friend. He forces eye contact with Dean as the sixth years leave the common room, one of them smacking, who he assumes is, Mark on the back of the head. Dean blinks a few times at a complete loss for words.  
“Uh... t-that... happened,” Dean stutters, still processing what this Mark dude just told them.  
Seamus shrugs and sits back. “Whatever. They were probably joking. That’s what-“  
“I wasn’t joking! Date already!”  
“ _MARK!_ ”  
Dean sits up straight, completely still, eyes yet wider. From the corner of his eye, though, he can see Seamus roll his eyes and click his tongue, cheeks dusted pink. He barely has time to process what’s happening when Seamus is pressing his lips to Dean’s own. He blushes dark red at the feeling, not completely sure what to do in response.  
A couple cheers come from the portrait hole, along with a few groans and people muttering ‘finally’ as they pass. Seamus pulls back when someone calls (while running) across the room, “you owe me five galleons, Quincy! Give me my money!” The two grin each other, Seamus resting his head on the other’s shoulder.  
They finally understand the strange looks.


End file.
